


Mont-Tremblant

by anthonyedwardstark



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1920s, Gentleman!Geno, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Valet!Sid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-22 21:25:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17067398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anthonyedwardstark/pseuds/anthonyedwardstark
Summary: The most beautiful man Zhenya’s ever seen opens the door and smiles kindly at him.“Bienvenue à Chateau d’ Mont-Tremblant, Monsieur Malkin.”Zhenya stares, starstruck, but only for a moment until the wind blows snow against the back of his neck and he steps into the warmth of the mansion.He smiles back at the footman and rummages through his limited repertoire of French phrases.“Merci beaucoup. Parlez-vous russe ou anglais?”“I can speak English, sir,” he says as he shuts the door firmly.“I’m relieved! My French, it’s very bad. English is little bit better.”“Glad to be of service, sir. I’m Crosby, the first footman.”





	Mont-Tremblant

**Author's Note:**

> This work was inspired by the [SidGeno Photo Challenge](https://sidgenophotochallenge.tumblr.com/) on tumblr.
> 
>  
> 
> Also, check out my [Tumblr](https://eighteaseven.tumblr.com/).

The most beautiful man Zhenya’s ever seen opens the door and smiles kindly at him.

“ _Bienvenue à Chateau d’ Mont-Tremblant, Monsieur Malkin. _”

Zhenya stares, starstruck, but only for a moment until the wind blows snow against the back of his neck and he steps into the warmth of the mansion.

He smiles back at the footman and rummages through his limited repertoire of French phrases.

“ _Merci beaucoup. Parlez-vous russe ou anglais _?”

“I can speak English, sir,” he says as he shuts the door firmly.

“I’m relieved! My French, it’s very bad. English is little bit better.”

“Glad to be of service, sir. I’m Crosby, the first footman.”

“Nice to meet. They will bring my things inside?” he asks gesturing vaguely to the door.

“Yes, sir. And they’ll take your horses to the stables.”

“Good. Tell them take extra care of my horses, yes?”

“Of course, sir,” Crosby says as he leads Zhenya through the entry hall.

“They very good ponies. I rent them in Montréal. Stableman says they called _Valeur_ and _Victoire_ , but I say is too serious. They funny ponies. Call them Iceberg and Penguin. Like to play in the snow. Give them lots of carrots!”

The footman tries to stay professional, but he can’t help the laugh that escapes.

“Iceberg and Penguin? I’ll make sure the stable-hands are informed.”

“Thank you. Is very important,” he says with a grin.

Crosby smiles back and asks, “Would you like to see _Seigneur Lemieux_ before dinner or should I take you to your rooms?”

“Like to see Lemieux first, if he’s not busy,” Zhenya replies.

“Very well, sir.”

 

* * *

 

Crosby stops in front of a large, ornate door and knocks.

“ _Seigneur Lemieux?_ ” he asks.

“ _Entrez! _”

“ _Mon Seigneur, Monsieur Malkin est arrivé. Allez-vous le recevoir? _” 

_“Oui!”_

Crosby opens the door wider and steps back, gesturing Zhenya forward.

“ _Seigneur Lemieux_ , _Monsieur Malkin._ Mister Malkin, Lord Lemieux _.”_

Lemieux stands up from behind his desk and walks toward Zhenya.

“Malkin, you scoundrel! It’s been ages!” he says and gathers him in a friendly embrace.

“Not long enough, Lemieux!” Malkin jokes, returning the hug.

“How have you been?”

“Good. Your footman very nice, put up with my English!”

Lemieux smiles.

“I’m glad to hear it. I’d forgotten your deficiency in French. I suppose we’re both lucky Crosby’s the most competent footman in Québec, no?”

“Yes, very lucky,” Zhenya says as he smiles at Crosby.

Crosby’s cheeks flush just a hint, and he demurs, “You’re too kind.”

He steps back and turns to Lemieux, “Is there anything else I can do for you, _mon Seigneur_?”

“There is. I planned to have Letang valet Malkin, but he only speaks French. Would you be willing to valet through the winter?”

“Of course, _mon Seigneur_.”

“I have some business to finish up here. Would you take Malkin to his rooms, prepare him for dinner?”

“ _Oui, mon Seigneur_.”

“I’ll see you at dinner, Malkin,” Lemieux dismisses kindly.

Malkin nods, “Lemieux,” and follows Crosby out of the study.

 

* * *

 

Crosby leads him down a corridor, then up a flight of stairs, and down another hall.

“So you my valet for winter here?” Zhenya asks.

“Yes, sir.”

“I’m very happy for this,” he says sincerely.

“It’s my pleasure, sir,” Crosby responds.

“I’m never have valet before, so you have to teach me, yes?”

“Never?”

Zhenya shakes his head.

Crosby stares at him for a moment, then says, “Well, it’s quite simple, sir. Whatever you need, I provide.”

“Anything?” Zhenya asks teasingly.

Crosby smiles, “Yes, sir.”

“What if I’m need very big elephant? You find for me?”

Crosby laughs, “The work of a minute, sir.”

“If I’m need piece of the moon, you get for me?”

“Easily, sir,” he teases back with a crooked smile.

“If I need sweets from the kitchen, you bring to me?”

“Well, now you’ve gone too far, sir,” he jokes.

Zhenya laughs.

As they turn the corner, a servant passes by. Crosby’s smile is replaced with a professional reserve. He straightens his back and clears his throat.

“Your bags and suitcases should have been brought to your rooms. Is there a particular suit you would like to wear to dinner?”

“You pick which one you like best.”

“Yes, sir.”

At the end of the hall, Crosby stops and opens the door and gestures Zhenya in. The rooms are beautifully decorated and a fire is crackling in the sitting room. Zhenya’s suitcases and bags sit next to a chaise lounge. Several large, arched windows provide a beautiful view of the snow blanketing the estate.

“Very beautiful,” Zhenya observes.

“I’ll pass the complements on to _Dame Lemieux_.”

Zhenya starts to unbutton his outercoat.

“Allow me, sir,” Crosby says as he steps forward and begins to open Zhenya’s heavy coat.

Zhenya’s arms fall to his sides and he stares at Crosby’s face, focused on the buttons of his coat. His hands move efficiently down Zhenya’s front. When he’s finished he walks around to Zhenya’s back and gently pulls the coat off him.

“This what valets do?” Zhenya asks with a rough voice.

“Yes, sir,” he responds with a gentle smile as he walks across the room toward the fireplace.

Zhenya clears his throat, then walks to the chaise lounge and lays down on it. He watches as Crosby hangs his coat by the fire to dry the melted snow, then begins to unpack Zhenya’s belongings.

He’s beautiful in the way he moves, Zhenya thinks. Graceful. He tries not to stare too much, but it’s so hard to look away.

He unpacks Zhenya’s clothes first, opening garment bags, pulling the suits from them and hanging them in the closet, neatly organized by level of formality. His travelling suits on the left of the closet to his black tails on the right. He pulls a suit from the center right of the closet and turns to Zhenya.

“Will this suffice for dinner?”

Zhenya nods.

Crosby sets it aside and continues unpacking Zhenya’s belongings while Zhenya continues watching him.

“Would you like to dress for dinner now?” Crosby asks after he has finished with Zhenya’s luggage.

Zhenya stands up as an answer. Crosby walks up behind him and deftly pulls his already unbuttoned suit jacket from his shoulders then lays it on the chaise lounge. He turns back and gently pushes on one of Zhenya’s shoulders to turn him around.

He smiles at Crosby once they’re face to face and Crosby smiles back. He holds his hand out and Zhenya stares at it.

Crosby’s lips twitch, and he kindly says, “Cufflinks next.”

Zhenya lifts his right arm and places his hand in Crosby’s. Zhenya absentmindedly rubs his thumb across the delicate bones of Crosby’s wrist.

Crosby glances up at Zhenya’s face. He looks just for a moment then back down. When Crosby switches to his left cuff, Zhenya again drags his thumb along Crosby’s wrist, this time deliberately. Crosby clears his throat and turns to put the cufflinks in the jewelry box sitting on the table near the chaise.

 _Maybe_ , Zhenya thinks.

Crosby returns and lifts his hands to Zhenya’s neck, gently pulling at the knotted tie. With his hands against his neck, Zhenya knows Crosby can feel his blood racing.

He lifts his chin and Crosby pulls the knot loose, then pulls the end through the knot and lets the tie drape over Zhenya's shoulders.

His fingers slide beneath Zhenya’s shirt collar. When he flips it up, his thumb brushes across the apple of Zhenya’s throat and he swallows reflexively.

He can hear Crosby’s breath catch.

Their eyes meet as he pulls the silk tie off Zhenya’s shoulders and drops it to the floor.

Though Zhenya’s never had a valet before, he knows that jackets, cuffs, and ties are all the undressing a valet usually does. When Crosby places both hands on his shoulders, Zhenya's breath catches.

 _Maybe this flirtation hasn't been imagined. Not just him longing for a beautiful man, but something real, something returned_ , Zhenya hopes.

Crosby drags both his thumbs across Zhenya’s collarbones and Zhenya tenses. After a couple of passes, back and forth, he pushes Zhenya’s suspenders off his shoulders and they fall to his sides.

He reaches back up to Zhenya’s neck and unbuttons the two buttons near his collar, then rubs his thumb against the base of Zhenya’s throat. Zhenya releases a long-held breath.

Crosby drags his palm down the crisp white shirt covering Zhenya’s chest and his fingers dance down Zhenya’s body, easily pulling the buttons from their openings. When he reaches the bottom he firmly grips the shirt and pulls it up, untucking it from Zhenya’s trousers.

He slides his hands beneath Zhenya’s unbuttoned shirt, against his stomach and slowly ghosts them up his body until they sit under his shirt on top of his shoulders. Crosby steps forward and Zhenya can feel his breath against his throat as he pushes the shirt off his shoulders and down his arms. Crosby looks back up at him and drops to his knees.

Zhenya can’t help but moan.

Kneeling like he is, Zhenya knows it’s impossible for him to miss the way Zhenya wants him.

He reaches for Zhenya’s left foot and unties his boot while rubbing his thumb up and down the back of Zhenya’s calf. He runs his hand up Zhenya’s leg, stopping at the back of his knee, bending it to help pull off his boot and sock, then switches to Zhenya’s right leg to repeat the process.

He kneels up, and his nose brushes against the cloth drawn taut at the front of Zhenya’s trousers. He slides his hands up the outside of Zhenya’s legs, up to his hips.

Zhenya curls his toes against the floor, doing everything he can not to spend in his trousers.

The long minutes of teasing from this beautiful man and the absolute relief of this dangerous desire reciprocated have brought him _so_ close to the edge. He’s _right_ there and Zhenya knows it won’t take much to push him over.

He brings his hand to rest against the front of Zhenya’s trousers, palm flat against Zhenya’s cock. Zhenya groans and his hips instinctively jump forward. A small smile graces Crosby’s face as he moves his fingers to the buttons of Zhenya’s trousers.

He holds his hands still, staring up at Zhenya until Zhenya finally begs, “ _Please_.”

Crosby acquiesces and easily unfastens both buttons. Zhenya’s trousers fall to the floor. They pool around his ankles. Crosby lifts each of Zhenya’s feet, pulling the fabric off and away, leaving Zhenya in nothing but his boxer shorts.

Crosby sits back on his heels and stares his fill. He runs his palms over the pale skin of Zhenya’s legs before resting them behind Zhenya’s knees. He looks up in silent askance and Zhenya tightly nods.

Crosby pulls his hand from behind Zhenya’s left knee and hesitantly lays it on his kneecap. He softly runs his fingers across the mottled scars that adorn his knee.

“The war?”

Zhenya nods again. Crosby leans forward and presses a gentle kiss to the inside of his knee. Zhenya almost sobs at the sweetness, at how innocent it is.

He drags his lips a few inches up and lays another reverent kiss on his inner thigh. He moves his mouth to Zhenya’s other leg, pressing another kiss, switching sides back and forth up his thighs until he meets the hem of Zhenya’s shorts.

He kneels back up and drags his nose along Zhenya’s cock, teasing him through his shorts. He pulls back just a bit and lays wet, open-mouthed kisses from base to tip, leaving his lips resting against the damp fabric at the head. He stares up at Zhenya with an ardent gaze, devout and deep. Zhenya stares right back, completely awestruck.

Crosby pulls back just the slightest and licks his lips. He reaches up and unfastens the two buttons of Zhenya’s shorts and they fall to the floor.

He grabs Zhenya’s cock, wraps his hand around the base, and takes the tip into his mouth.

Zhenya throws his head back and bites his lip.

Crosby bobs his head a little, taking a bit more into his mouth

“ну ты даешь,” Zhenya admires.

He wants this to last, wants it more than anything. Beautiful men like this, men of this persuasion are so rare, so scarce and it’s precarious, so risky to seek them out. Zhenya knows he’ll never find another man like this, a man this beautiful and sweet.

He wants this moment to last- _God_ , does he want it to last- but he knows it can’t. He’s so close to the edge, right there on the precipice. And this beautiful man is sucking his cock, his plush lips wrapped tight around him, his tongue striking timid glances against the tip, and, God, it’s the most gorgeous thing Zhenya’s ever seen.

Crosby looks up at him from his knees and meets his gaze. Zhenya reaches down and runs his hand through Crosby’s lush, dark hair and Crosby moans around his cock.

That’s all it takes.

He spends in Crosby’s mouth and it’s perfect. His hips jump and he comes. Crosby hums and swallows it down. Zhenya still can’t catch his breath. His chest heaves and he wants to fall over but instead he just keeps running his fingers through Crosby’s hair, petting him.

Eventually, Zhenya’s hand falls to his side, and Crosby sits back on his heels, letting Zhenya’s cock withdraw from his mouth.

Zhenya stares down at him in wonderment.

“You’re perfect,” he breathes.

Crosby’s cheeks flush and he looks away.

Zhenya offers Crosby his hand and helps him to his feet. Crosby self-consciously dusts off his knees, and refuses to meet Zhenya’s gaze. His cheeks are still flushed, his hair is mussed, and his lips are red and swollen.

He looks absolutely sinful.

Zhenya raises his hand and lays it against Crosby’s cheek. His breathing stutters. Zhenya drags his thumb along his red bottom lip, pulling gently at it. All Zhenya can think about is the fact that _he's_ the one who debauched this beautiful man. His lips are so raw and flushed because he sucked _Zhenya’s_ cock.

It’s hard for Zhenya to look away from those perfect lips, so soft against his finger, but when his eyes meet Crosby’s, he’s glad he did. His pupils are blown wide. Beautiful brown eyes, once with a warm gaze, now stare hotly back.

The grandfather clock tolls, marking the hour, and Crosby jumps back and clears his throat.

“I’ll go get your suit, _Monsieur_. I’ve laid it out jus-,” Crosby rasps.

Zhenya pulls him forward and cuts him off with a kiss. Crosby moans into Zhenya’s mouth. He places his hand on Crosby’s abdomen and drags it down, grasping him through his trousers. Crosby moans again and bucks into his hand, then pulls back.

“Dinner will be served soon. I need to get you dressed,” he gasps as Zhenya kisses down his jaw.

“Won’t take long, I think,” Zhenya replies into his ear, before he gently grazes it with his teeth.

“This, or dressing you?” he asks breathlessly.

“Both,” Zhenya retorts as he moves his hand up to unfasten the buttons of Crosby’s jacket.

Once he has it open, he brings his hand to the waist of Crosby’s trousers and unfastens one of his suspenders. He yanks Crosby’s white shirt upward, untucking it from his trousers and slides his hand beneath it. He can feel Crosby shudder under his hand.

“Oh… that’s so… oh, _God_ , please keep going. Don’t stop,” he moans.

Zhenya slides his hands into his trousers and inside his underwear. It’s tight against his wrist and the angle is awkward but the way Crosby moans in response more than makes up for the discomfort.

He wraps his hand around Crosby’s cock, and the way Crosby whimpers, the way his eyes flutter, makes Zhenya wish he were young enough to go another round. Crosby’s face contorts in pleasure with every stroke, and Zhenya would happily do this for the rest of his life just to watch Crosby respond. It’s the most erotic thing he’s ever seen.

Zhenya keeps stroking him, and Crosby is getting closer and closer to the edge. Zhenya can hear it, in the way his whimpers move to higher and higher pitches, and in the way his hips jump roughly toward Zhenya, seeking more contact, more touch.

He goes back to kissing Crosby’s neck, and Crosby gasps and tilts his head, giving Zhenya more room to kiss and taste.

Zhenya knows he shouldn’t, knows it might leave a risky mark, but he can’t deny the opportunity, can’t resist the impulse to lightly bite at the delicate skin, just a gentle graze of his teeth.

The little bite to his neck is enough to push Crosby over the edge. He releases a quiet little moan and his cock jumps in Zhenya’s grip. Zhenya feels Crosby’s release stripe his arm and wrist. His hips stutter a bit and Zhenya presses soft kisses to the side of his neck and strokes him until he’s finished.

Crosby falls forward, and rests his forehead against Zhenya’s shoulder, his warm breath drifting across Zhenya’s collarbone. Zhenya’s wraps his free arm around Crosby’s shoulder and rests his hand against the back of his neck, soothing him with gentle strokes of his thumb.

The two of them stand there, catching their breath, Zhenya entirely undressed and Crosby completely disheveled.

Eventually, after his breathing has evened out, Crosby steps back, huffs out a laugh, and bashfully smiles up at Zhenya. Zhenya beams back.

Zhenya awkwardly pulls his hand out of Crosby’s trousers, trying his best not to stain Crosby’s trousers with the wetness on his hand.

After he manages to extricate it, he looks around for something to wipe his hand on, but finds nothing. Crosby reaches down and grabs Zhenya’s old shirt from the floor and cleans Zhenya’s hand with it. Zhenya raises his eyebrows.

Crosby quirks his lips and offers, “I was going to have it cleaned anyway.”

Zhenya huffs a laugh in response and pulls him in for an indulgent kiss.

Crosby pulls away breathless and says, “I really do need to dress you for dinner.”

“Yes, okay. You right. But we get you dressed first, yes?”

Crosby looks down at himself, and for the first time, notices his state of disarray.

“Oh! I hadn’t realized!” he says, a little embarrassed.

He straightens his trousers and neatly tucks his shirt back into them. He finds the stray suspenders strap and twists it the right way around and attaches it to the waist of his trousers. Then he rebuttons his jacket and smooths his hands down his front.

“Am I all straightened up?” he asks, turning to Zhenya.

Zhenya laughs. Crosby’s lips are still raw, and his cheeks are still a little pink, and his hair is an absolute mess.

“Not quite,” Zhenya says and steps forward.

He raises his hand and begins to comb Crosby’s hair back. He does the best he can, but it still looks a wreck.

“Wait right here,” Zhenya says, and he goes to his case to pull out a tin of pomade.

He walks back to Crosby, twists open the tin, and reaches up to slick Crosby’s hair back.

When he’s finished he steps back, checks Crosby once over, and says, “Now, you’re perfect.”

Crosby dips his chin and murmurs, “Thank you. Your turn.”

He walks over to the closet and grabs the suit the he’d set aside earlier. He returns to stand in front of Zhenya. He lays the suit on the chaise and gathers the pieces of Zhenya’s travel-worn suit. His jacket, shirt, trousers, and tie are all laid on the chaise.

Crosby helps him step into his boxers and socks, and then his trousers. He pulls Zhenya’s arms through his crisp new shirt and buttons him up. He ties a beautiful Windsor knot with a new silk tie and pins the new cufflinks to Zhenya’s sleeves. Lastly, he steps behind Zhenya and helps him into his suit jacket.

Crosby turns Zhenya around. He straightens knot of the tie, brushes some imagined lint from Zhenya’s shoulder, and steps back.

Zhenya can see the professional reserve settle back over him, in the set of his shoulders and the countenance of his face.

Zhenya can’t stand the coolness, not from this man, not after the heat they’ve just shared.

“Call me ‘Zhenya’,” he urges.

“Pardon?”

“You say today you do whatever I need. I need you call me ‘Zhenya’, not ‘sir’.”

“Sir, Seigneur Lemieux has strict-,”

“In my rooms, you call me ‘Zhenya’, outside you call me ‘sir’, yes?”

Crosby bites his lip and pauses before nodding.

“All right, Zhenya,” he says.

He’s quiet for a moment before he says, “In here, you can call me ‘Sidney.’ If you want. You don’t have to.”

“I want, Sidney.”

He dips his chin and shyly smiles, “Is there anything else I can do for you, Zhenya?”

“You show me to the dining room, Sidney?”

“Of course.”

Sidney takes him back down the hall and down the stairs, and just as he makes to turn the last corner, Zhenya reaches out and gently grabs his wrist.

Sidney raises an eyebrow.

Zhenya pauses for a moment, making certain he has the words he needs in English before he speaks.

“Sidney, if you are not wanting to be my valet, is okay. Understand? If you are not wanting this, Letang can be my valet. I tell Lemieux I want to practice my French. I’m not make problem for you if you are not wanting this, yes?”

Sidney stares at him for a moment.

“I’ll see you after dinner, _Monsieur Malkin_.”

Zhenya smiles at Sidney and says, “After dinner, Crosby.”

Sidney gracefully bows his head and steps back and Zhenya watches him walk down the hall. Just as he turns the corner, Sidney looks back and softly smiles at him. Zhenya’s heart jumps.

 

* * *

 


End file.
